Dark Solstice by N.P. Martin

Author:N.P. Martin [Martin, N.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-16T22:00:00+00:00

14

Standing the gloomy kitchen of the big house as we look around at all the weird stuff in it, it feels like my guts are turning to mush, and I have to squeeze my sphincter tight in case I shite myself. In my mind or for real, I can still hear faint whispers; too faint to make out any words, but the sound itself is enough to put me on edge big time. “You hear that?” I whisper to Jamesy.

“Hear what?” he whispers back, too busy staring at all the stuff on the worktops to pay me any real attention. I can’t blame him for being freaked out, because the whole kitchen is full of weird dried-out plants hanging from various places, and there're jars of strange-coloured concoctions all over the worktops.

“Nothing,” I say as the whispering seems to stop, thankfully. “Fuck, I feel like I’m going mad in here already.”

“I know what you mean,” Jamesy says. “What the fuck is all this shite in here?” He picks up a jar and opens it, and then recoils at the foul smell inside so much that he drops the jar and it smashes all over the floor.

“Ferfrigsake, Jamesy! Fucking careful, will ye!”

Jamesy’s coughing, his eyes watering. “Fuck, that stench! Jesuschrist!”

I can smell it now too, an eye-watering, acrid stench like sulphur mixed with rotten meat. “Jesusfuck…let’s get outta here.”

Still coughing, Jamesy exits the kitchen before me, stepping out into a long hallway with doors on either side, and old oil paintings hanging on the wall. “Christ,” he says looking down the hallway. “How many rooms are in this place, anyway?”

“A lot,” I say, taking in how different the house seems inside since the last time I was here. It was always a gloomy house, even in bright sunlight, but it seems even more dark and foreboding now, especially with the creepy oil paintings on the wall. Back when I worked in the place, it always felt like there was something else in the house along with us, a presence I or any of the other workers could not explain. A presence besides the ghosts of the dead family, that is. Standing now in the hallway, I feel that presence again, only more magnified this time, as if the witch moving into the place had somehow awakened a great evil within the bowels of the house.

“Look at these fucking paintings,” Jamesy says, stopping to stare at one. A massive oil painting that shows a woman being burned at the stake, onlookers watching with smiles on their faces. But the creepy thing is, the woman being burned isn’t screaming in agony as the flames lick at her naked body. No, this woman is smiling as she looks down upon her accusers, as if she knows she’ll have her revenge at some point. “You reckon that’s a witch?”

I nod as I stare at the painting. “Aye, I do. Look at her, evil bitch.”

“She doesn’t seem too worried about burning to death.”

“Yeah, I wonder why?” I say sarcastically.

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